


If I Can't Go Back

by CamiInWonderland



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Celestina Warbeck is probably the best thing about this, Celestinas hair is full of secrets, Cursed Child? What Cursed Child?, F/M, Harry has OPINONS, I am the real cursed child, I found this on my computer during the hurricane, I wrote this like back in 2007, It gets better I swear, Marcus is as slimy as always, Ophelia has a lot of feelings, Percy is a Dork, Pining, Ron is still Ron with his weirdly accurate predictions, Second Chance Romance, Take these tags away from me, That awkward moment when the main characters are the side characters and vice versa, The Popstar/Oliver Wood Fanfic no one asked for, The whole gang is going to show up sooner or later., Welcome to the pain train, after the war, denim on denim on denim, dirty lyrics, epilogue compliant, i should stop mentioning that weird play since this fic has LITERALLY NOTHING to do with it, oliver literally just wants to play quidditch leave him alone, ophelia prince, she has more feelings than snape, shes a prince, so much pining, the fashion is probably going to end up becoming a main character, this first chapter is like a lot of exposition, this is set in 2001 get ready for the britney spears references, wand puns, wizarding reconstruction era
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-09-05
Updated: 2019-09-05
Packaged: 2020-10-10 15:10:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20530082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CamiInWonderland/pseuds/CamiInWonderland
Summary: Ophelia Prince has struggled for years but has finally become the famous musician she always wanted to be.Oliver Wood is living his dream as the starting keeper of Puddlemere United.Everything went according to the plans they made during sixth year (also known as the year that Oliver Wood discovered there was more to life than Quidditch and then promptly changed his mind).Well, not everything.They might not agree on much these days, but they can at least agree on one thing, it's time to get over the past....But what happens after they do?





	1. No Right to Love You

**Author's Note:**

> This is something that's been sitting on my laptop for a while. Criticism welcome from all who read.  
I wrote this at a time when I was dealing with some complicated emotions. There's something to this that feels strangely honest to where I was at the time. That said-- I would love to hear how it is received by others.
> 
> If anyone still reads Oliver Wood/OC Fanfiction, that is.
> 
> Drop an Ask in my box on Tumblr.  
https://camiinwonderland.tumblr.com/

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I have no right to love you, when I chose to walk away"  
-Rhys Lewis

** _ August 23, 2001_ **

** _Celestina Warbeck’s Sitting Room_ **

** _ London, England _ **

There were three aspects of fame that Ophelia Prince was sure that she would never get used to: The free stuff, the lack of privacy, and the fact that she regularly had a cuppa with Celestina Warbeck. The first time it happened, she spent four hours getting ready (She had to buy a new set of robes, paint her nails, and of course it was imperative that she rehearsed pieces of conversation). She spent the entire conversation forgetting her prepared observations, too starstruck to even speak. 

This did not seem to bother Celestina, who was a decent enough conversationalist for the both of them. Ophelia was confounded when Celestina invited her back-- the same time next week. And then she was invited again, and again. Celestina provided her with guidance and good company, and while she was starstruck in perpetuity when it came to Celestina, she was currently getting annoyed with the direction her questions were heading in.

“So things ended with that fiancé of yours? You let that information slip by the last time we met.” the Singing Sorceress had one manicured brow raised so high it appeared as if it were attempting to obtain citizenship in the sovereign state of her glorious updo. Ophelia peeled her eyes away and cleared her throat, in a futile effort to buy some time.

“The day my father died, a week ago, yes. I decided that I wanted to be on my own for a while. It must have slipped my mind. I have a hard time thinking of unpleasant things in your company.” She sipped her tea, begging Celestina silently to drop the subject. Of course, Celestina chose to ignore her silent plea.

“But you and Marcus had been engaged for _ eight years _! And you had finally set a date,” she pressed. Celestina was trying very hard to get Ophelia to say out loud what they both knew was true.

Ophelia didn’t love Marcus Flint. She never had, and she never would. Their wedding had been purposefully put off for eight years, and when Ophelia’s father finally put his foot down and set a date, she cried for days. When he died, her first instinct wasn’t to cry but to break up with Flint. Did that make her a terrible person? …Probably. Or well, probably not. There was a long list of sins before this moment that were formative in her own treachery. Perhaps this was not the making of her villany- but the product of it. 

When was the last time she felt truly good in her soul? She knew better than to ask that question of herself-- as the answer would always be found in the same warm brown eyes… right before the memory turned to fire, then ash. She felt a couple of the antiquated sutures in her heart rip.

“You know the truth, why make me say it? I’m overjoyed when my world should be in shambles.” Of course, the tears in her eyes chose that moment to well up. 

She hadn’t cried yet, and here she was-- not mourning her father, but a boy who had surely long forgotten her. ‘Despicable’ cried the voice in her mind. “I’ve been in shock the past two weeks with everything that’s happened that I made a fool of myself in an interview with Witch Weekly a few days ago.” Celestina’s body began to shake violently as she... laughed?

“Child, revel in the truth! You’ve spent so much time catering to others' thoughts and feelings, you’ve made a mess of your own. The best thing you can do for yourself as a person-- and an artist, is to give yourself the freedom and space to experience the authenticity of your emotions. Which is not to say that they should dominate your life. Artists like ourselves feel too intensely to live happily that way! So maybe you feel joy, but something else perhaps?” Ophelia felt her adoration for the woman grow. How could one person be so wise? She shored up the strength to say something terribly honest.

“There’s an old heartbreak. I haven’t given it much attention in years. But with everything? It’s been simmering in the background for so many years, that all of this has prompted it to come boiling over.” Celestina sighed.

“Ah yes, time is not always a friend to heart wounds. What happened?” Ophelia set down her cup, in an attempt to hide the quaking in her hands. She had not spoken of _ him _ in years.

“Before I was engaged to Marcus, I fell in love with a boy at school. I’ve been shutting out the hurt from how things ended, and living off of, or well, writing about that time for so long I thought I’d succeeded in turning him into an idea or a concept in my mind rather than a living, breathing person that I once thought I’d never live or breathe without.” The singing sorceress’s eyes echoed an unheard but triumphant tune. It amazed Ophelia how the woman appeared to be _ made _ of music.

“I TOLD you there was no way your songs were about Marcus. So now, tell me, who is the hunk behind ‘Bedroom- Eyed Wizard’?” Ophelia looked at her teacup, contemplated taking a sip, but her hands were still untrustworthy. 

‘Bedroom-Eyed Wizard’ had been a risk for her, and the catchy hook and taboo nature of the song meant that it was either destined to fail, or to become an instant classic. Thankfully, the latter came to fruition. What had been a mildly successful career had turned into full-blown stardom in the past two weeks, and of course, Celestina Warbeck credited herself with discovering Ophelia. 

She’d already been off balance when the song was released, and after losing her father and leaving Marcus she was utterly off-kilter. She even accidentally told Witch Weekly that her songwriting tended to be very auto-biographical, right after mentioning that she hadn’t written any songs about Marcus. 

Since then, everyone wanted to know _ who _ was behind her song, and that was her deepest secret. But here she was, single and in the presence of her idol, so for the first time, Ophelia considered revealing the truth to another person. 

“You really want to know?” Celestina took a sip of her tea, her hands perfectly steady. She’d never beg for gossip (begging was beneath her). However, that didn’t mean she wouldn’t pry it out of her one way or another. The determined look in her eyes told Ophelia as much. Ophelia took a deep breath before mustering up the courage to talk about _ him. _

“It’s someone I had a brief romance with when I was 16. I haven’t even spoken to the guy since before we graduated from Hogwarts.” Celestina’s eyes went wide.

“So you were a bit of a wild child, then!” A rosy blush tinted Ophelia’s cheeks, as the line ‘_ He can do things with his wand, that keep me singing all night long’ _ran through her mind.

“It wasn’t like that!” Celestina gave her a smug, disbelieving look. “Really, I’m telling the truth! When I wrote the song I had just seen a photo of him in the papers and he looked like such a hotshot. Really sexy, you know? A total stud. It was startling because while he’d been enticing enough back in school, I fell for him because of how sweet he had been." Celestina gestured for her to go on.

"So on a particularly lonely night, I wrote two songs about what I imagined it would be like if we were to cross paths again. One of them was ‘Bedroom-Eyed Wizard’ and the other was ‘Sorry Just Isn’t Enough’. Two very different takes on our non-existent reunion.” As she was explaining herself, a wicked grin twisted Celestina’s face and Ophelia’s stomach churned as she waited for her to pounce on whatever thing she shouldn’t have said.

“He was in the papers? I read the Prophet every day, I’m sure I know who he is. Let me guess… It would be too obvious for it to be Harry Potter, he’s always in the papers. But perhaps Ronald Weasley?” Ophelia wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“When I was 16 they were only 12!” Celestina only took a moment to recoup, before firing off names.

“Percy Weasley, the Prime Minister!” Ophelia doubled over laughing.

“Not on my life!” 

“Bill Weasley,” Celestina countered.

“It’s not a Weasley!” Celestina huffed, and tried again.

“Viktor Krum?” 

“Close, but not quite. He’s a professional Quidditch player.” Ophelia was surprised to feel her excitement growing as Celestina guessed. _ Say his name, let me hear it _ chanted her heart _ . _

“Andre Kilpatrick.” Ophelia rolled her eyes, Andre Kilpatrick was a notorious playboy and the seeker for Puddlemere United. She'd never met him, but the day the news had hit that she'd broken her engagement-- his people had made it very clear that he was interested in a date.

“Right team, wrong player.” Celestina excitedly clasped her hands together.

“It was one of my boys? Well at least you have good taste!” Ophelia tilted her head back and laughed. If there was one thing Celistina loved, it was Puddlemere United. Despite all of the success she had had over the years, she’d tell anyone who asked that the greatest success of her career was when she was asked to write the Puddlemere anthem. Every year she performed it at their first home game, in what was always sure to be a spectacle.

Celestina mentally ran through the list of players, and after contemplating whether or not their age might be within range, she sighed.

“Was he older? Because there’s only one other around your age and I’m sure it couldn’t…” She squinted her eyes, as if trying to determine if it was even possible. Ophelia nodded enthusiastically her head up and down, confirming her suspicion.

“No! You didn’t write that song about _ Oliver Wood _ , did you?! That man doesn’t even know there’s a world outside of the pitch! _ How _ did you manage that?!” Thoroughly scandalized, Celestina set aside her teacup and waited for Ophelia’s reply. Her heart seemed to burst at the sound of his name.

“Our 6th year at Hogwarts was the year with that nasty basilisk on the loose, and Quidditch had been canceled for the year. He had time to focus on some… other things, then.” Celestina rolled her eyes. Oliver Wood had made a career out of being the most focused wizard in Quidditch. 

The tabloids hated it because while he was insanely popular, they never had much to write about him. That didn’t stop them from trying, however. But Oliver had a gift for shutting down the press. Ophelia wished she could ask him how he did it because clearly Francine had no clue (or possibly no desire to shut them down at all, regardless of the line of questioning).

“And he promptly ended it when the matches were back on?” Ophelia swallowed the lump that had formed in her throat. She’d yet to even say his name, but there it was lodged in her esophagus, trying to burst out from her heart where she’d been hiding him all these years.

“Oliver wasn’t like that. He was quidditch obsessed, for sure-- but perhaps that was because his heart didn’t know how to be anything but brave, to be anything but devoted. He wasn’t on bended knee or anything, but he pursued me fiercely and confidently. He never once made me feel like I was some way to pass the time, though our schoolmates might have thought so. 

No, actually, I ended it after I received a letter from my father that the Flint family had agreed to an arranged marriage between Marcus and... well, you know, our family is on the lower end of the upper crust, and finding someone who would marry me in the aristocratic world had been a hard task for my father. I never knew how to stand up to him.

So I left Oliver and tried to make things work with Marcus. It was before the war when standing against the aristocracy wasn’t nearly as fashionable. In fact, it was _ dangerous _. All my family, excluding me and my father, were lost to one side of the war or another. 

And afterward… I do love my father. Refusing to marry Marcus after everything would have broken him. But when he wasn’t here anymore…” Celestina took a deep breath and let it all soak in. Gossip was her drug of choice. Thankfully, she could also keep her mouth shut.

“This means you can’t say no to what I wanted to ask you today.” Ophelia shook her head vehemently. 

“I’m NOT going out on a date with your nephew!” Celestina examined her nails, hiding a smile. Before she had learned that Ophelia was engaged she tried to set her up with her nephew, Mortimer. Mortimer was a nice fellow… but only when compared to He Who Must Not Be Named. Celestina thought he was an angel, of course. But never had Ophelia heard of an angel who was quite so handsy.

“Oh, it’s nothing like that. I want you to sing with me for Puddlemere’s opening game!” Ophelia sat straight up in her chair. The thoughts in her head fought for dominance.

“That’s the day after tomorrow! Why didn’t you ask me sooner?” Celestina made a point of dramatically allowing her eyes to roll to the back of her head.

“Because if your wicked little manager had known any sooner she would have leaked it! Now you can tell her tomorrow when it will be too late to slip any information to the Prophet! It’s more fun as a surprise!” Ophelia took a sip of her tea. Her manager Francine was a bit out there, but she’d been with Ophelia ever since she started sneaking out of her father’s home, playing festivals and small clubs during summer break. Francine had gone to Beauxbaton’s during the school year, but during those summers they’d been attached at the hip. Francine was perhaps the only one who knew she still carried a torch for Oliver-- despite Ophelia’s vehement denials.

“So what big spectacle did you have planned?” Celestina leaned forward as if she were tempted to reveal a very big personal secret, which in a way, she was.

“You’ll see if you show up to the stadium tomorrow for rehearsals.” Ophelia felt giddy with excitement. While she had been friends with Celestina for quite some time now, she had never performed with the legend and it was something she couldn’t refuse… And maybe she’d see Oliver. The thought hollowed out a space in her stomach and promptly filled it up with glee and anxiety. She took a deep breath and pushed the thought to the back of her mind.

“Now do I get to go shopping, or did you already have something planned in place of wardrobe? I know that’s your favorite part.” Celestina folded her hands in her lap.

“I did, but now that I know that this is going to be the first time you’ve seen your ‘Bedroom-Eyed Wizard’ in so long, I think it has to be something extra special. I’ve got Laurent coming over in an hour. I’m sure he can whip up something special.” Ophelia suddenly took up an interest in her hands.

“I don’t think he’d really much care how I look, it’s been _eight_ _years_. Plus, he definitely won't have any time to talk to me after the match.” _Or even want to_, she thought to herself. _But maybe--- no._ That niggling hope needed to be released. Just because Ophelia wanted to make up for lost time… time hadn’t truly been lost. It had warped and twisted and forced them to build new lives. There was a whole war that had divided the present from their past. As much as her heart yearned for Oliver, she knew it to be certain that his had long ago been turned bitter towards her.

  
“You are a goddess divine, and when you hit centerfield in the dress Laurent and I put you in, he will _ make _ time!” Ophelia smiled, but the broken expression on his sixteen-year-old face when she told him it was over, was etched in the back of her mind, casting a shadow of doubt.

She might be dying to see him-- but he most certainly wouldn't feel the same.


	2. 99 Problems

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "If you're having girl problems  
I feel bad for you son,  
I've got 99 problems  
but a witch* ain't one."
> 
> -Ice T, Jay Z, Hugo

** _ August 24, 2001 _ **

** _ The Wood Family Cottage _ **

** _ Banchory, Scotland _ **

It had been about a month since Oliver had last visited his mother, due to his practice schedule, but the day before the first match of the season, He made his way to her cottage. It had become a tradition for him to drop off the season tickets in person and even though Oliver was busy, he couldn’t pass up an opportunity to make his mother smile.

Having flown there (flying practice was a good way to make up for the luxury of taking an afternoon off to Scotland), he set his broom down on the front porch and made his way to the door. As he tiredly approached, he noticed what looked like his mother’s copy of Witch Weekly lying on the doormat. Reaching down to retrieve it, he stopped halfway, his stomach hitting the floor before he grabbed it and greedily scanned the headlines.

_ OPHELIA PRINCE SPECIAL EDITION ISSUE: OPHELIA RISING’ _

_ ‘Ophelia Breaks Eight-Year Engagement after Father’s Funeral!’ _

_ ‘A peek inside the ‘It Girl’s’ Kitchen’ _

_ ‘Our Top Ten Potential Bedroom-Eyed Wizard Guesses Listed on Page 36’ _

_ ‘Ophelia’s Best Fashion Moments So Far! Page 44’, _

The photograph of Ophelia, a headshot, winked at him and blew a kiss.

Her hair was shorter now, he noticed. Good for her. She’d gone on and on about cutting it back at Hogwarts. She’d been incapable of making a decision she thought her father wouldn’t like, but it seemed, now that he was gone she was dancing on his grave. Not that he blamed her.

This whole Ophelia being on the cover of Witch Weekly wasn’t much of a surprise, as a week ago one of his teammates had been singing her song in the locker room. He’d called Andre out on his terrible singing, and Andre informed him that he couldn’t get the song or the girl who wrote it out of his head. 

Oliver had been chugging his bottle of water when Andre said the name ‘Ophelia Prince’. 

Needless to say, he sputtered his water all over Andre’s face, and began choking for what seemed like ages. That had been a shock, as he hadn’t even known she’d finally pursued a singing career.

And it looked like she was making a spectacle out of her personal life to do it.

What a surprise-- Ophelia Prince making a scene for attention.

He let his fist lazily collide with the door three times, before his mother opened it, beaming when she saw him.

“Ah didn’t think I’d git tae see ye afore th' match, Ollie!” He wrapped his arms around her and squeezed her tight, the magazine still in his hand. “C’mon inside, son.” He let her go and handed her the magazine.

“I picked this up off the porch for you, ma.” She grabbed hold of the magazine and gasped.

“According te this, she’s single na’.” Oliver cleared his throat.

“Mum, it’s almost been a decade. Surely you don’t think I’m still pining after her.” Mrs. Wood, being the tender and loving mother that she was, said: 

“HA! Well I surely dinnae have any grandchildren to prove ye.” Mrs. Wood pinched his cheek and he kissed his mother’s forehead.

“I’ve got a real pretty broom. She’s good to me. Not much of a cook, but we do just fine,” he quipped.

“Ye know those jokes used te be a hoot. Now I worry.” Oliver grabbed his mother's hand.

“I’m doin’ just fine, ma.” She turned and led him inside his childhood home.

“So’s Ophelia Prince, it seems. Ah always liked that lass.” Oliver ran his fingers through his hair.

“Ye only met her one time.” One _ disastrous _ time, he added mentally.

“An’ I liked her. ‘Cept for the breakin yer heart bit. And since ye’ve had no lass around since her I’m to assume tha’ ye’ll be goin after her now tha’ she’s single. Why else carry a torch around fer so long?” Oliver folded his arms. Mrs. Wood marveled at how larger than life her son had become, looking out of place in the quaint little cottage. 

Though he was now a massive, burly bloke, his stubbornness hadn’t changed a bit since he was 2 years old. Somewhere inside him she could see her wee little Ollie, riding around on his toy broom and knocking into the furniture. Though she pestered him, she was proud of the handsome, successful man he’d become.

“No torch here, ma. But if ye want a wee bairn to coddle I’m sure Andre has a few of ‘em out there somewhere. Ye can ask him after th’ match tomorrow. Speakin’ of it, I came by to drop yer season tickets off. These are a hot commodity, ye know. Tickets te our first match were sold out months ago.” Mrs. Wood gave him a pointed look before going to the kitchen to bring him some of her homemade treacle tart. 

When she came back she had the good sense to drop the previous topic, instead opting to chat about how Oliver was feeling about the game, what he thought their main concerns should be considering the Magpies had a quite a few rookies on their team. Though he was glad for the brief reprieve, he knew the conversation wasn’t over.

Regardless of what his mother thought, eight years was a long time. He was pretty sure that whatever window had existed for him and Ophelia had closed long ago, and whatever part of his heart she had occupied closed with it.

“Well ah’m chuffed to see tha’ mah boy can still save a little ole seat fer his Ma! Whit with all th’ adorin’ fans waitin’ at th’ pitch gates to see ‘im” Oliver blushed.

“That’s not what I meant, and you know it.”

“Ooh! Fancy Ollie dinnae mean te insult his ma. Ah’d have thought sendin’ ye to school in Scotland, ye wouldn’t have lost so much of yer, but by yer second year ye were practically posh. Livin’ in Dorset’s spoilt mah wee highlander” Ah, that old argument again.

“Dinnae worry, mah, I’ve never been close to posh.” His mother chuckled.

“Well, ‘ave sum haggis jus’ incase.” 

Oliver sat down at the dinner table and tried not to pay too much attention to the empty seat at the head of the table.

He’d lost more than an accent and a girl at Hogwarts. His mother leaned over and kissed the back of the empty chair. That was the difference between them: She could live happily with an empty space. He couldn’t. And while he missed his dad terribly, there was only so much missing a person could handle. Perhaps that was the real reason why his visits were getting more sparse. He made a point to remember to invite his mother to Dorset.

“Ma, why don’t ye come an stay in Dorset wit me fer a few days or so? I’ve only got practice in the mornin’s, an we can go visit the seaside again” Her eyes watered. Not the response he was hoping for. It was cliche, but non-quidditch related tears were still a struggle for Oliver.

“Yer da would be so proud of ye. Big famous quidditch player still makin’ time for ye mah. I’ll probably stay for an extra day or so. I dinnae wan’ te cramp yer style”

“I’ve no style to cramp, ma,” which was the unfortunate truth. He’d finally convinced Andre that he was no good as a wingman. And had since then been able to go to bed at a decent hour.

“If ye never get married Ah’d still love ye, but sometimes Ah worry ‘bout who’ll take on th’ job when ah’m no’ around.” Oliver blanched.

“Don’t worry about that, ma. I’ve already decided ye have to live forever. No gal I’ve met makes Haggis like this.” To prove his point he shoved a huge forkful in his mouth as his mother tutted and flipped through the Witch Weekly. 

The itch in his fingers were obviously from broom splinters, not a desire to rifle through the pages of the women's magazine. He put his head down and began devouring his plate as his ma devoured the article.

“Ack!” She cried. “Yer fame is ruining my girly mags. Dinnae ye just tellt me tha ure a monk or somethin’? Th’ last thing ah want to read is ‘ow good mah son is wit’ his wand.” Oliver, for the second time in as many weeks choked on his food.

“What th’ bloody ‘ell those soul suckin’ wenches writin’ bout me nae?” His mother slid the article his way with a disapproving look. Oliver braced himself as he began to read.

_ Bedroom Eye’d Suspect No 1 _

_ Anonymous sources say that before her engagement to Marcus Flint, The songstress had a whirlwind teenage fling with one OLIVER WOOD. _

_ “They were all over each other back in Hogwarts. I think one of the professors even caught them in an empty classroom with his… well his WOOD out. Couldn’t keep their hands off of each other. While we were all worried about one giant snake, Ophelia had her hands full with another.” _

_ Our source is referring to the basilisk episode of 1993 at Hogwarts, where Prince and Wood attended school. The other thing they’re referring to makes Oliver ‘that broom’s not the only nice piece of wood between his legs’ Wood our suspect number 1 because Ophelia herself said that the song was about someone that was formative to her sense of sexuality. What’s more ‘formative’ than getting a little frisky in an abandoned classroom? _

_ We at Witch Weekly just want to say-- we get it Phee! If we could get our hands on the quidditch hunk, they’d be all over him, too. _

_ Wood has been famously celibate, leaving club after club without a girl on his arm, unlike his frequent companion Andre Kilpatrick, fellow Puddlemere United teammate. _

_ What caused him to put his apparent bad boy ways behind him? Is he still heartbroken after all of these years? _

_ If the Keeper (and we agree, he really is one) is the subject of Ophelia’s hit song, we wonder if he can teach our boyfriends to do those “things with his wand” that Ophelia croons, “kept her singing all night long” in her hit single. _

Oliver was mortified and a little exhausted. The rumours about his sexual prowess popped up every now and again thanks to some baseless gossip from the girls dormitory back in sixth year. He was sure Ophelia herself had started these particular rumours in a misguided attempt to make it easier for him to find someone else. Of course, nothing kills the mood like knowing a girl was only interested because of some lie your ex spread as a twisted parting gift.

“Ma, ye’ve gotta know this is all just a load of crass lies. I’ll talk te my manager ‘bout gettin a retraction.” he tossed the offending magazine aside. His mother shrugged.

“Its nae the wurst they could be sayin’. You’d had the talk by then. As long as ye’d been safe an attentive to th’ girl. I just rather not read ‘bout it.” He rolled his eyes.

“We were kids, ma. It’s not like we had some scandalous affair. We held hands, snogged, and talked about growing up. All very PG.” Oliver crossed his fingers beneath the table. Sometimes it was very important to lie to your Ma. No matter how weirdly disappointed she was by the lie.

“What I can’t believe is tha’ she’d allow the press to paint her a tart. Whether there’s truth to it or not, she was always very image conscious.” Oliver scraped the rest of the haggis off of his plate and stuffed it in his mouth

“Bitter is nae yer color. ‘Sides, s’okay if ye want te show a lass yer wood, but be sure to be a gentleman about it like yer Da. Any lass in yer bed who wasn’t properly woo’ed thare is nae worth yer time. An oh, did he woo me!”

“Ma!” Oliver’s ears had turned redder than the tomatoes in the garden.

“Whens th’ last time ye tried to woo a girl anyway?” Ophelia winked at him from the corner of the table. He realized that he hadn't thought or spoken of her this much since he was at Hogwarts. The drill that used to bore through his chest every time he heard her name back then had grown rusty from disuse, and though he felt a prick to his pride at her name, the pain was gone quickly.

“I’m not having this conversation with you, ma.”

“Was it, Phee?” He gaped, trying to come up with a response.

“It’s not like I still have feelings for her, Ma”

“Maybe not, but she left ye wit no feelings te give anyone else”

“That’s not true.”

“Prove it, son. Ask out the Bell lass down th’ road” Oliver shrugged.

“We’re jus’ friends. Besides, I’m not into ‘er” His mother sighed.

“An why nae?”

“No spark.” His mother rolled her eyes at his standard answer.

“Remember son, it’s often that the magic happens once you’re in love. Not always before. Half the spell is givin’ it a chance.” Words he knew well. They’d been repeated to him over and over. Perhaps his ma was right. Once the season was over and they’d won the World Cup, He’d give it a chance with someone.

But not while there was Quidditch to focus on.


End file.
